


Whispers, Dark and Sweet

by ColeAccidentallySins (MageOfCole)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: "Rescues", Aftercare, Age Difference, Alien Biology, Alpha Jango Fett, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Animal Traits, Biased POV Characters, Brainwashing, Breeding Kink, Comfort/Angst, Cultural Differences, Dark, Dark Romance, Dark Undertones, Dark-ish, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Eventual "Happy" Ending?, Intersex, Intersex Obi-Wan Kenobi, Kidnapping, Knotting, M/M, Male Slash, Mandalorian Culture, Mandalorian Empire AU, Manipulation, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mental Coercion, Mental Link, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Obi-Wan Kenobi, Oral Sex, POV Third Person Limited, Plot With Porn, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy Kink, Sexual Content, Sexual Language, Slavery, Smut, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24919162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MageOfCole/pseuds/ColeAccidentallySins
Summary: Jango had given up on his childish dream of having an omega of his own - he had gone 27 years without ever meeting one and it had quickly driven into his mind that alphas and omegas truly were a dying breed. Then he catches the scent of sweet cinnamon-honey mixed with something purely omega, in an out-of-the-way cantina on a small, unimportant moon in Republic space.To Jango, it feels like the will of Manda that brought them together, and he'll be damned if he lets anything take his omega away now that he's found him.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 965
Kudos: 1052
Collections: Integration: The Collection





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Integration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11920878) by [Millberry_5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millberry_5/pseuds/Millberry_5). 



> This story is vaguely inspired by Integration and Co. by Millberry_5; as in it's a universe when the Republic-Mandalorian War never really died down, Mandalore was never bombed and is an expending Empire, and it and the Galactic Republic are currently in the midst of a very long cold war with spots of things getting lit on fire.  
> It's going to be pretty dark, because I also had the bright idea of experimenting with A/B/O dynamics for the first time as well, and in my head that can be pretty dark. Jango and Obi-Wan's relationship may end happy, but getting there is a bit of a Bad Road and I do not condone dubiously consensual relationships and mental manipulation!  
> Please don't take romantic advice from this fic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Hunt in Republic space leaves Ven'alor Jango Fett grounded on an unimportant moon while his ship goes through minor repairs; he finds himself in the cantina, looking for intelligence, a drink, and maybe an easy fuck, but nets himself an omega instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sex in this chapter, just plot, sorry pals  
> Please let me know what you think, this is my first time writing this sort of thing so I'm always a little worried that I'll get it wrong -.-"

He smells it first.

It's so rare that for a moment he’s not even sure what he’s smelling, until something deep in his soul purrs with a heady _need/want/_ ** _yes_ ** and it hits Jango like a lightning strike. It leaves him buzzing, skin tingling, and before he knows it, dark eyes are scanning the cantina, flecked with the gold of an alpha.

An _omega_.

Purely a Human evolutionary dilemma, alphas, betas, and omegas had existed for as long as history could reach back - perhaps a consequence or side effect of whatever made Humans spread out across the galaxy and abandon their mother world, or maybe just an evolutionary quirk that came from breeding with a long-dead species; historians and scientists weren’t quite sure how it had begun. But they did know that they were dying out fast, that less and less children with secondary genders were being born; most were born null, and the overwhelming majority of the rest were born betas. Next to none were born as alphas or omegas.

Among the Mandalorian Empire, having either in your Clan was viewed as a gift from Manda itself, a boon brought to those who were strong and true to the Ways. Jango himself had been born an alpha, obvious by the gleam of gold in his pupils as he wailed, trying to summon his alpha-voice but unable to until his presentation. Clan Fett had celebrated the day of his birth and had sent a message to the _Mand’alor_ himself when Jango had finally presented at eight, using his alpha-voice for the first time to chase a pack of wolves off their farm. The arrival of the Mand’alor to their little homestead should have been a glorious affair, but alphas were as profitable as they were rare, and Jango had been the only one to walk away from the ruins of his once-home - dragged away by the very man who would become his _Buir_.

Jango himself had long since given up on his dream to have an omega of his own - a child’s hope birthed before the knowledge of the rarity of his kind truly settled in - and he had moved on, comfortable in the knowledge that he would never meet an omega.

Or at least he thought he had, until he had caught scent of the sweet cinnamon-honey, mixed with something purely _omega_ , in an out-of-the-way cantina on a small, unimportant moon in Republic space. Jango wasn't even meant to be here, he was on a Hunt, but a small malfunction on his ship had left Jango grounded while his ship was repaired, and he had figured he’d take the time given to him to see if he could find any more information worthy to take back to the Empire, and get a quick drink or two, maybe an easy fuck. It had definitely been looking that way with how the Zabrak across the bar was eyeing him.

But then he had smelt _it_.

He narrows his attention on the newest arrivals. Two Humans had just walked into the cantina, the larger of the two smelt like mud and sour milk, definitely unpleasant, but their size and ruggedly handsome face made up for the fact - but it wasn't them who Jango had smelt. No, it was the smaller form following in behind them that had stood out to him. The omega was slight, dressed in cheap spacer clothing, and with shaggy red-blond hair falling around a pale face. As the larger Human moves towards a group of sabbac-playing aliens led by a canine Bothan, the omega cast their gaze around the cantina, and Jango raises a glass in greeting when those eyes are drawn towards him.

Unlike the omega - it would appear by the faint medicinal-chemical scent cloying his natural one - Jango didn't take suppressors, and he can tell, even with the suppressors, that the young omega’s attention is as securely on him as his is on them. He almost can’t contain the electric excitement that lances down his spine as the omega starts towards him.

“Hello there.” The young omega greets, and the rough Outer Rim accent doesn't quite feel right coming from their pretty little mouth. Slight and flat-chested, with a trim waist and broadness in their shoulders telling of strength hidden beneath the baggy fabric. This close, Jango can see their eyes, a striking blue-green-gray that seemed to swirl between the colours depending on how they tilt their head - he can even see the flecks of silver in their dark pupils that he had read were one of the outward signs of an omega.

The only outward sign not covered by clothing anyways, and Jango has a primal desire to strip the pretty omega out of their unflattering loose pants and see for himself if it was true what the books said about masculine-born omegas.

“Hello, beautiful.” Jango purrs, delighting in the pink little blush that covers those freckled cheeks, gesturing an invitation to join him at the bar. The omega smiles shyly as he does so, sitting daintily on the seat next to him. “The name's Jan. He him.”

“Ben.” The omega - Ben - says lightly, waving at the bartender for a drink. “Also he him.”

“ _Ben_.” Jango says, curling his tongue around the vowels, and with the way ‘Ben’ doesn't react to it, Jango can guess that the name is as fake as ‘Jan Arlo’ is. Looks like he isn't the only one using an alias, but considering where they were, no one would give their real name.

Using Jango Fett would get him shot at just as quickly as turning up in his _beskar_ would - the _Ven’alor_ would be a pretty prize for anyone hoping to get a handy sum from either the Galactic Republic or Mandalorian Empire.

“Well, Ben -” Jango positions himself in a relaxed sprawl that draws attention to his lap, “- what _is_ a pretty little omega like you doing all the way out here with characters like this?”

Ben smirks, colourful eyes darting across strong shoulders and down to his lap, the shimmer of silver in his pupils growing with every breath. He takes a slow, appreciative sip from his drink, “The same thing a handsome alpha is, I imagine.”

Jango chuckles, rolling his neck just enough to flex the powerful muscles hidden under earthy brown skin. “I doubt it,” He purrs, “Unless you're here for illicit work or a good hard fuck.”

A slow, red flush starts crawling up the young man’s slim neck, making the russet freckles stand out against the creamy paleness, and it draws attention to the freckle-less patch of skin below his jaw and ear where the scent of _omega_ was strongest.

His mating gland.

A primal part of Jango wants to lean over and push his nose against the skin, to see if it was as spongy as the science articles said they were. He wanted to lick around the edges and draw pretty little noises from the pretty little omega before digging his teeth into it and marking him as _his_.

He's finally found him. His _riduur_ \- _his mate_ ; Manda must have meant for him to find his omega, to have placed him here at all, after 27 years of life and never coming across an omega in all his travels.

“Are you offering?” The omega’s cheeky voice draws him from his thoughts, and Jango blinks the smaller man back into focus to stare into his mischievous eyes, glittering like the rarest of crystals.

Jango smirks, showing off sharp fangs as he switches positions, leaning towards the omega instead of against the bar, and he delights in the little catch in Ben’s breathing. “The work or the fuck?”

The redhead chuckles, blinking playfully, “Can't I have both?” He drawls flirtatiously, and Jango grins.

“It could be arranged.” He says, and Ben’s smirk pulls on those delicious lips, the faintest flash of fangs visible just beyond them as he leans a little closer into Jango’s space. “Let me buy you another drink.” He breathes the offer, enraptured by the vision of fire and beauty in front of him.

A slim hand lands on his forearm, a warm weight that makes his covered skin tingle, “What a gentleman.” Ben says airily, jewel toned eyes peering up at him openly from under copper lashes, and the smaller man bites his lip coquettishly.

“If that's what you want.” Jango purrs, waving down the bartender once more. His mind is already flying through all the ways he could keep this little bewitching omega as his own, how easy it would be to take him back to Keldabe and introduce him to his sister and father. Jaster would be happy for him, for sure - to have managed to catch himself an omega when so few existed in the galaxy would be seen as just more proof of Jango’s capabilities by the more traditional Clans. His _Buir had_ been making noise recently about Jango finally settling down and making him a _ba’buir_ , and having an omega so close to him has his own instincts buzzing under his skin and whispering desires in his ears. He can already imagine the omega swollen with their pups, and the phantom smell of milk is on the tip of his tongue.

 _Ka’ra_ , does he _want_.

Arla’s boys felt like a poor substitution now in comparison. He loved his nephews, and for the longest time he had thought that they would be the closest thing to his own children as he would ever have, but being an uncle didn’t feel like enough anymore, now that he’s found an omega.

Maybe Jango hadn't completely given up on that childhood dream after all.

Gaze intense, Jango watches the pretty omega knock back the shot like an expert, throat bobbing, a cocky little grin on his pink lips as the tip of his tongue darts past them to catch any alcohol left behind. Ben stares back, gaze just as heated, but there was a shy little blush on his cheeks that told of his inexperience.

 _Come with me_ , Jango wants to say as his lips part, but he's interrupted when an interloper pushes their way into the conversation. He had been so entranced by the omega that he hadn't even noticed another being approaching, and he nearly snarls when a large hand lands on Ben’s shoulder, drawing the redhead’s attention away from him, possessive anger burning in his gut at the sight of the older Human his omega had arrived with.

“Uncle!” Ben greets in surprise, “I thought you were talking to Gesc?” The older Human stares at Jango for a long moment, blue eyes probing and hard, before turning to the redhead with a sheepish laugh that has Ben frowning. “How much did you lose?”

“Not as much as you’re probably thinking.” The man says lightly, and Jango darts his gaze back the way he had come from to see the Bothan and their companions long gone. Ben huffs in quiet annoyance, and his uncle pats him consolingly on the shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

Ben hesitates, eyes darting back towards Jango, “I thought -”

His uncle interrupts him with a shark of his head, and a disapproving “ _Ben_ ” that has the younger man’s shoulders drooping in disappointment and sighing.

“It was nice meeting you, Jan.” Ben says quietly, smiling politely, all his hidden fire carefully smothered, and Jango frowns faintly. “Thank you for the charming company, and the drink.”

Jango carefully rearranges his features as he feels Ben’s uncle’s eyes drilling into him, “Maybe another time.” He says instead of what he _wants_ to, and when Ben opens his mouth to respond, the older man talks over him.

“Let’s go, Ben.” He says, turning on his heel and striding away, and leaving his nephew to scramble to follow, shooting one last regretful look over his shoulder towards where Jango sits at the bar, stewing in his own frustration.

He growls under his breath once Ben is gone, and tosses back his own forgotten shot a little more aggressively than he had meant to under the bartender’s sympathetic stare. The buzzing doesn't leave, and he can still feel Ben’s warmth lingering in the fabric of his flight suit.

He doesn't last long, burning with the aggression of an alpha denied their omega, before he’s pushing away from the bar, tossing down a handful of credits and storming out of the cantina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Mand'alor "sole ruler"  
> Buir "father/mother/parent"  
> beskar "Mandalorian iron"  
> Ven'alor "(future tense prefix) ruler" (made up!)  
> riduur "partner/spouse/husband/wife" (also meaning "mate" in this fic)  
> ba'buir "grandparent/grandfather/grandmother"


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jango had planned to leave the moon in the morning, but things never work out according to plan. Instead, he's found himself within touching distance of an omega that needs to be saved.

Jango steps out of the heat of the cantina and into the cool night air of the moon, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tightness that had been growing quickly since the omega was led away from him, his instincts howling in fury and rattling his bones with every moment his other half isn’t near him. He had planned to leave the moon in the morning, the repairs having been finished around late-meal - he had wanted to release a little stress from being in enemy space with a quick, easy fuck, but it would seem Manda had other plans for him.

An actual, _living_ omega - proof that he wasn’t alone, that there were others like him, that there was still hope for alphas. Jango had met only a handful of other alphas in his life - Jaster being one of them - but he had never seen an omega; there hadn't been one born in Mandalorian space in over fifty years.

Until now.

Jango lets out a slow breath, trying to control the rushing in his blood screaming at him to go find his omega, to scoop him up and bundle him back to Mandalore and make him his. In Keldabe, the omega wouldn’t need to suppress or hide, he wouldn’t need to be _ashamed_. Jango knows that not all places treat omegas as the Ka’ra-given treasure that they are, there’s plenty of horrible studies done by Mando’ade of the past, of the ways omegas were treated outside of Mandalore’s protective grasp - and from the chemical smell that had lingered in his omega’s sweet scent, someone had made the young redhead feel unsafe, something that no omega should. They were meant to be cherished, to be safe and happy.

Jango breathes in heavily through his mouth to steady himself, but his heart rate just stutters all over again when the fresh taste of cinnamon and honey lingers on his tongue, and Jango can’t quite hide the pleased rumble he releases at his luck.

His omega was close.

Jango stills, head tilting as he strains his hearing, scenting the air as he does so, and he lets his senses guide him towards the mouth of a dank ally. The omega is there, but he isn’t alone; his scent is sour with unease, with just the hint of some sort of spice that makes Jango’s chest feel warm.

“-really an omega?” He hears someone say, followed by some shuffling. “You sure Djin was telling the truth?”

“The stupid old man wouldn’t lie.” Another responds, voice carrying the growl of a more animalistic species. “He has too many debts to pay off. Besides, I can smell it on him.”

“Damn, we’ve really hit the jackpot.” A third says, “Did he have any idea the fortune he was dragging around with him?”

“‘Course he did.” The growling voice responds, and Jango leans around the corner, quietly cursing himself. For the sake of his cover as a smuggler, Jango hadn’t carried anything more than a cheap Republic-model blaster that was more for show than anything, and a knife into the cantina - everything else was carefully sealed away in a hidden compartment on his shuttle, undetectable to any Republic scanner - and now he’s wishing he hadn’t cared so much about his fucking cover. The redhead is surrounded on all sides, hair and clothes a mess and his uncle nowhere in sight, arms held behind his back as the canine Bothan leans into his face, nose twitching and fangs bared in amusement. “Your Uncle Djin owes us a lot of money, boy, money he can’t cough up.” The aliens around him chuckle darkly, and Jango growls darkly under his breath, envisioning ripping those disgusting arms off of his omega and tearing the bastards apart. “Gesc Dikoti doesn’t take kindly to people trying to cheat him, and your Uncle tried to cheat me.”

Ben is quiet for a moment, before chuckling, “Does Gesc Dikoti always talk about himself in the third person?” He asks with the mock cheerfulness of someone who is either extremely stupid, overwhelmingly confident, or a mixture of the two. Jango himself has used that very tone quite a few times when he wants to be cheeky with the enemy.

Dikoti’s companions growl, but the Bothan just laughs, “Cheeky.” He says, “I wonder if your mouth will be just as loose as it chokes on a cock.” The other aliens jeer, and Jango stiffens, “The price you’ll go for is worth double what your uncle owes us. And, well, what kind of business man would I be if I didn’t test my products first? To make sure everything is in… _working order_.”

 _Fucking Manda_ Jango wants to throw himself at them, to tear them apart with his bare hands, but he’s spent years training his alpha instincts for a reason; he’s no use dead, and those bastards have more guns than Jango does. He doesn’t have his armour. As much as he wants to leap into a battle with overwhelming odds, all he has is an unfamiliar weapon and a knife. Mando’ade are warriors, not stupid, and it would just put Ben in danger.

The best thing he can do is bide his time. He needs to discover where their base is - Jango knows their type, they’ll want to take their time, and they can’t do that if they’re in an ally where anyone could spoil their fun.

“We have two different understandings of the term business man, I believe.” Ben says, as the spicy scent emanating from him continues to grow. “You’re a pirate.”

“And proud, little omega.” The Bothan turns to his companions, barking out a laugh and a, “Let's move.” Ben lets out a noise of complaint as he’s jerked forward, hauled away by a laughing group of pirates, and Jango sets his jaw, pulls out his blaster, and follows.

He’s prepared for the worst, to be honest, because despite his sudden splash of good luck among a generally unpleasant mission, nothing can ever be easy for Jango. But it seems Manda is still on his side, because he shadows the pirates through the abandoned streets, he realizes that they’re heading towards the very port where his shuttle is docked. With every step, the redhead seems to grow more and more uncoordinated, his scent growing spicier, and Jango continues to growl at the sight of someone else’s hands on _his_ omega. It’ll be easy for him, to stop off at his ship and load up on weapons, to swoop in to pluck his omega out of the pirates’ dirty grasp, and to carry him off to safety - to Mandalore.

Away from pirates, and away from bastards who sell other people into slavery to pay off their debts. Just his reaction to being captured shows that he’s more than just a pretty omega, that he’s a fighter with fire in his heart and the potential to be _mandokarla_.

Jango breaks away from the group when they pass his own bay, slipping up the ramp to the simple-looking transport shuttle Mando’ade use - one of many - when flying into Republic space without suspicion. He makes a quick b-line towards the cabin, and with it the false wall hiding his _beskar’gam_ and weapons. Each piece has its place, snapped over top of his flight suit, the shine of genuine beskar obvious even in the dim light. Usually Jango takes his time putting his second skin on, enjoying the strength and power it offers him - the protection against being the useless little boy left to watch as his family burns ever again - but now he has a purpose, he has a mission, and every moment he wastes is another moment away from his omega.

When he steps off of the shuttle once more, clad in silver, blue, and green beskar, he’s the image of a wrathful Mando’ade prepared for _oya'karir_. 

_And Hunt he will._

Jango sweeps from the shuttle bay like an electric storm, cape swaying as he prowls down the hall, following the heat signatures left behind by the pirates and his omega. He’s already fingering his blaster, ready to pull it from the holster on his thigh and start shooting, shoulders loose and predator-dangerous. His _buy’ce_ may hide his snarl, but his body language doesn’t; he’s ready and anticipatory, he wants to rip and tear, to make them _bleed_ for daring to lay their disgusting hands on an omega - _his_ omega.

The two guards posted on the door don’t know what hit them when Jango soundlessly puts a shot through each of their heads, dropping them like pests and stepping over the corpses to get to the control pad - which he jams with his whipcord and shorts it out with a carefully controlled blast of electricity. The door slides open, and Jango walks in.

The pirates on the other side barely get the chance to shout a warning before one gets stabbed through the neck with his wrist blade, pulling the corpse towards himself as a shield as he shoots down the other pirates. He ducks, throws the body aside, and comes up with his amban rifle, disintegrating the one bastard who had been fast enough to dodge his first shots but not quick enough to avoid the second attack. In the pirates’ ship itself, hee catches the rest of the scum with their pants down.

Literally.

The group from the cantina are gathered in the cargo bay, scrambling to pull their clothes on after hearing the massacre in the docking bay, and it’s this moment of stupidity that lets Jango carve through the group with ease - idiots should have gone for their weapons instead of their clothes. He tears open the throat of the Nautolian closest to him, ignoring the geyser of blood that sprays across his beskar, and shoots the Zygerrian in the mouth. The Selonian gets a shiv through the eye when they try to throw themself at him, claws primed, and then the body is thrown at the two Devaronians to knock them off their feet and unable to defend against the whistling birds that tear through them even as Jango turns, snarling, to where Dikoti stands over a stiff body.

Ben lays, completely bare and chained down, on the floor, skin flushed and chest heaving, eyes wide and shimmering silver. Even with his _buy’ce_ on, Jango can taste the spiciness of his scent on his tongue, cloying and thick and invading through the filters of his helmet. Even if he’s never been around the scent before, he instinctively knows what it is, and he can already feel his cock straining against the codpiece.

A Heat.

Jango growls, and the sound makes the omega on the floor twitch, head lolling towards him as the young man tries to fight off whatever it is that’s in his bloodstream. The pirates had to have done something to him, because Jango knows that suppressors are made to stop any heat from happening. “What did you do to him.” His voice is growling deep in his chest - his alpha-voice, a voice that demands submission and loyalty. To most beings, it’s threatening, but to those who have a biological hierarchy, it makes them want to bow and bare their necks, and he can see that it has that very effect on the Bothan by the way the canine alien struggles with his own instincts.

“Listen!” Dikoti backpedals, staring in terror as Jango takes another threatening step forward, “Listen! We were just going to have a little bit of fun! The boy’s uncle owes us!”

Jango _snarls_ , “ _What did you give him_?”

“It's just a drug!” Dikoti says fearfully, whining like a scared hound. “It was just to make it more interesting! Listen - I can give you money - just let me live.” He cowers, “I - I’ll give you the boy - that’s what you’re here for, right? Take him, he’s yours, but please - just let me go.”

“I was never going to let you leave.” Jango snarls, leaping across the small space separating them, and the Bothan howls in fear and pain as the Mando’ad’s blade digs into his soft, unprotected belly. “Not in one piece.” With a jerk of his shoulder, he violently vivisects the pirate from gut to throat, and side steps the steaming organs as the gurgling body collapses.

His attention isn’t on his prey anymore, but on the struggling omega chained to the bloodstained floor. Jango’s eyes carefully trace along the long expanse of pale, flushed, skin uncovered, admiring the fluttering, defined muscles of the redhead’s abdomen, tracing the thin trail of copper hair leading to his -

Jango has to tear his eyes away from the delicious sight to clamp down on his own desire to take the omega right there and then, to mark him and make him his. It will have to wait, but the alpha in his wants to wash away the pirates’ touches with his own, and instead he turns his attention to the chains and cuffs keeping the young man spread out on the ground spread eagle.

“I had it under control.” Ben’s strained voice makes him look up, and he tilts his head in disbelief, silently gesturing to his position. The copper haired man just looks a little sheepish in response, but his wide, glassy eyes shift between Jango’s bloodstained form and the bodies scattered around the cargo bay; he’s nervous, a little afraid, Jango can tell that much, but he’s stubbornly fighting off whatever drug the pirates had given him, even if he’s flagging. He can smell that Jango’s an alpha, he’s done nothing to disguise his pheromones, and while his body wants to relax and let the strong alpha in front of him help, his mind is still fighting.

It can’t be pleasant, having his entire body burning and begging to be knotted, while his mind is still stubbornly holding onto the harmful ideals living in the Republic had no doubt drilled into him. An omega shouldn’t have to deny themselves their own instincts, and Jango is more than willing to help him with that.

“Admittedly -” Ben gasps, squirming, knees rubbing together - probably instinctively seeking out friction - and Jango growls at him; he can’t get him free if he’s moving around so much. “This is not part of the plan. But I was working on it, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Jango drawls. His voice is much deeper than it usually is, strained from holding back his own desires until he can get Ben to a safer spot to help him ride out his Heat, but the pretty little omega seems to like it, because his full-body flush seems to deepen, and he squirms again. He stills though, when one of Jango’s gloved hands drops onto his hip, pupils dilating and silvering as he growls, “Stay still, or I’ll sedate you.”

“Bad -” Ben gasps, his body taut and wry muscles quivering under his skin, but he does try to obey. “ - bad idea. I’ll - I won’t be able to - control myself. Makes - makes it worse.” Jango just hums, faintly interested but turning his attention back to the cuffs around the young man’s ankles, pulling the tools he needs out from his belt.

He ends up having to sedate him anyways, despite his warning, when the omega’s back arches, threatening to wrench his shoulder out of place. To stop the young man from hurting himself - and to make him stop the needy little noises that were driving him mad with lust - he jams him in the hip with a hypospray. Long, graceful limbs spasm slightly, before the sedative kicks in and his omega goes limp.

“Sorry, _mesh’la_.” He says, not at all sorry, “But I did warn you.”


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is sex in this chapter (a note: in this fic, in Mandalorian Culture, an alpha and omega having sex during Heat is viewed as fully consensual, so Jango sees no issue in it, and neither will any other Mandalorian. I do not condone having sex with someone who is essentially drugged/high/drunk)  
> Please tell me if you think there are tags I should add

The moment Jango has all of the omega’s limbs freed, he gently wraps the young man in his cape; it won’t do much for covering him, but Jango doesn’t want anyone looking at his omega more than they strictly have to. The power in his core and shoulders makes it easy to lift the small omega into his arms - he’s denser than his size would lead someone to believe, probably from the muscles Jango had been admiring, lending to the image of an individual trained in combat.

Jango lets out a rumbling purr at having his omega in his arms at last - warm and _real_ \- and this close to him not even the filters in his helmet can hide the fact that whatever the pirates had given the young man was already burning the suppressors from his blood. The chemical scent grows weaker with every rapid, fluttering heartbeat. Now, fully in Heat, the lithe body in his arms is just begging to be filled and bred, and Jango can already imagine their pups in his mind’s eye - powerful pups and true warriors, raised in the ways of true Mando’ade. Maybe together, they’d add to the ever-decreasing population of alphas and omegas.

His cock aches to be released, to sink into the omega and give him what his body desperately wants, but he needs to get off of this moon first. Saving the redhead had blown his cover, no doubt some footage would be recovered of a Mandalorian storming through the port, and Jango has limited time to leave if he wants to make it back to Mandalore. His _Buir_ would be pissed, no doubt, that Jango had put himself in danger without any form of backup on what should have been a simple Hunt for reconnaissance, but he’d understand the moment Jango explained his omega’s circumstances. He’d get scolded by the worried father, but congratulated by the Mand’alor for saving an omega from a life worse than death and bringing him home where he would be loved and cherished.

He sweeps from the pirate’s ship, ignoring the twisted bodies scattered across the floor as he marches towards his own, his prize held securely in his arms, and as he steps up the ramp onto his shuttle, he’s already plotting out what course to set the autopilot to.

“Stop!” A voice shouts, but Jango doesn’t, even as Ben twitches in his arms. He throws himself onto the ship, turning enough to slam his elbow into the controls to close the ramp, and he catches the barest image of a familiar Human man with long brown hair rushing towards them - Ben’s uncle.

 _Well_ , he doesn’t feel too bad for activating the shields with enough force to probably make the man bounce off of them.

Hurrying now, Jango props the unconscious omega up in the co-pilot’s seat as he enters the code to leave the hangar and begins preparing for take off. He can’t risk the docking bay being put into lockdown if Ben’s uncle contacts the authorities, and he’ll be damned if he lets the bastard take his omega away from him after he had sold him into what would have been a life of sexual slavery. Mandalorians didn’t enjoy tearing apart families, but Jango can quite easily say that the Human didn’t deserve to have one in the first place.

Jango takes off even before the hangar bay doors are fully opened seeing the exact moment that they had been halted by someone in the control room overriding his code. He flips the hidden weapons system to active and simply blasts his way out, taking off and sending the ship immediately into hyperspace before they can scramble anyone to send after him.

A few more switches scramble the ship’s signal, and engage his autopilot - one specially designed by Jango’s second, Myles, to have the shuttle hop between hyperspace lanes to make it near-impossible to track. Once the white streaks of hyperspace enters his line of sight, Jango can finally relax, peeling his _buy’ce_ from his head and running a hand through his dark hair. He takes a deep breath to calm his adrenalin, and goes stock still the moment the taste of Heat-scent touches his lips.

His gaze sharpens, glittering with alpha-gold, and it takes almost every inch of his self control to not throw himself from the pilot’s seat and onto the omega next to him. Instead, he turns his head slowly, jaw tensing, and meets the silver-glazed eyes of a Heat-addled omega. Jango can smell the arousal of the redhead in the recycled air of his shuttle, and he almost absently notes that he’d probably have to air the entire thing out to clean the thick, cloying pheromones from the vents.

“ _Alpha_ ,” Ben blinks at him sluggishly, lips parted as he pants wetly, sweat making copper-red hair darken to the colour of freshly spilled blood where it clings to his flushed skin, and Jango can feel the warmth radiating off of the slim omega, and taste the slick produced by Heat-hormones. He had begun to squirm, the cape Jango had used to cover him falling away and -

“ _Phwoar_.” Jango curses under his breath, and with great reluctance he fumbles for his _buy’ce_ and slams it back over his head. _Ka’ra_ , does he want to just pound into the omega’s pliant body, but he doesn’t want to do it in the cockpit. That kind of fun could wait until they had worked the Heat from Ben’s body, and they could start exploring their sexual preferences. For now, Jango knows that he needs to make his omega as comfortable as possible.

The omega whines at him, head lolling when Jango jumps to his feet, the blue of his eyes barely visible with how dilated his nearly-solid silver pupils were, and he leans into his touch when Jango gently lifts him from the chair. Strong legs immediately wrap around his hips, and Jango has to hook one arm under the omega’s pert ass and the other across his back to keep the smaller Human balanced when Ben immediately grinds against him, whimpering with need. Burning hot arms loop around his shoulders and wet lips mouth against the small sliver of skin that peeks out from the neck of his flight suit, and Jango growls, “ _Ke’pare_ , _mesh’la_.” He gasps, staggering from the cockpit and towards the cabin, and he feels the sharp drag of teeth against his neck, pulling his collar down even further.

He can’t reach his cabin fast enough, because he’s moments away from just deciding _Krif this_ and just taking Ben then and there in the hall.

Ben continues to cling to him, and Jango manages to balance himself with one knee against the mattress of the bunk and a foot on the durasteel floor as he tries to pry the stubborn little omega off of him. A quick squeeze to the back of his neck and a growled order of “ _Let go_ ” luckily does the job, and the redhead goes limp, sprawling across his mattress like a star straight out of a pornholo, eyeing Jango with hungry desperation.

Stepping back, Jango carefully begins to strip himself of his armour, letting it drop to the floor around him. He’s too excited to get started to bother doing much else with it, and that excitement grows as the sound of the omega in his bed whining for him grows louder. “Poor little omega,” Jango croons once he’s stripped down to the skin-tight thermo-regulated suit he wears underneath his armour and flight suit, kicking off his boots as he prowls towards the bed.

Silver-glazed eyes immediately lock onto the very obvious bulge of his cock restrained against the fabric, and the omega whimpers, “ _Alpha_ \- alpha please.” He begs as Jango steps even further into the thick miasma of Heat pheromones in the air, and Jango finally reaches out to touch his omega without the barrier of fabric between them. The pale, flushed skin under his fingers is hot, almost unbearably so, and the muscles jump and quiver as brown fingers trail from freckle to freckle. Ben starts pushing himself up onto his elbows, seeking out his mouth, but Jango halts him by catching his jaw in his hand.

“Ka’ra, you’re beautiful.” Jango says, tracing his eyes across the beautiful body sprawled on his bed, “So beautiful.”

The omega whines, desperate for more contact as he nuzzles into the minimal touch Jango is offering him. “Alpha,” Ben pleads, and Jango presses his thumb against those plush lips in fascination, hushing him with a purr. Almost immediately, a pink tongue darts out to lap against Jango’s darker skin, and the alpha’s rumbling purr deepens.

“What a good boy.” He says, and the smell of the omega’s pleasure spikes, making something deep and possessive settle in his gut. “Tell me what you want, _ner dinui_.”

“Alpha,” The redhead begs, and Jango chuckles, “Please!”

“I need words, _mesh’la_.” He teases, despite how much his instincts are screaming at him to knot and breed the omega burning up in his bunk. The omega stares back in confusion, and Jango trails his hands from his jaw to rest against his neck, feeling the fluttering pulse under his palms. “What do you want, _ner sarad_?” Jango croons, and his omega’s eyes spark.

“You, Alpha!” The smaller man gasps, and Jango lets his alpha pheromones thicken the soup of hormones already laying heavy in the air like a spicy blanket trying to smother them. “ _Alpha_! Please! Need you!”

Jango steps back again, and the young man keens but quiets with a croon when the Mando’ad begins to strip out of the last fabric barrier between them, golden eyes never leaving silver. The omega’s scent grows more and more desperate with every inch of Jango’s earthy brown skin exposed just for him, wide pupils darting greedily across firm pectorals and abs, drinking in the sight of scars curving across the areas where his beskar’gam never fully covered. “Do you _want_ me, my omega?” He purrs as he kicks off his pants, moving to the waistband of his briefs and tugging on it teasingly, and the omega nods frantically. “Do you want my knot, _mesh’la_?” Jango’s grin turns feral, easing his underwear from his hips, letting his angry, weeping cock spring free, and Ben swallows audibly.

“Yes, Alpha!”

Jango chuckles, roughly fisting himself as Ben squirms on the bed, eyes locked onto the long, dark cock curling towards his sweat-slicked abs. He watches in dark amusement as the omega’s tongue darts out to lick hungrily at his lips as Jango kneels on the edge of the mattress, “I don’t share, Omega.” He growls, and silver eyes stare into gold with the single-mindedness of an omega in Heat. “If I make you mine -” the omega whines prettily “- then you will be _mine_. My omega, _ner ven’riduur_.” He leans forward as Ben stretches his head towards him, capturing the omega’s spit-slicked lips in a heated kiss, and he smirks into it when the smaller man’s lips part in a soundless gasp that turns into a muffled scream when Jango wraps a hand around his dick and presses his thumb against the head. The omega writhes under him, knees parting to give him access to slick-damp folds, and Jango pulls away from his lips to pant heavily against the redhead’s freckled neck, nosing at the mating gland as the cloth around his knees dampen with slick.

Looked like the books were right - Jango removes his hand from the omega’s cock to instead rub his thumb against the ring of muscle beyond those wet folds.

“Yours, Alpha.” The little omega under him gasps, wiggling his hips invitingly. Jango’s breath catches when Ben manages to grind against his cock, and shakes when the cheeky little thing does it again. “Mate me, Alpha! Knot me! Breed me!”

Jango growls against the pale skin, purposefully dragging his teeth against the spongy skin of the omega’s mating gland. This - _this_ is what Jango has been waiting for.

He pulls away, looming over the small redhead and pushing his own pheromones out at full blast. “Present!” He barks, his alpha-tone rumbling in his chest, and the omega scrambles to obey on shaky limbs.

Chest pressed into the mattress, hands pressed against the cool wall for stability, and ass raised into the air - it’s the ideal breeding position, and as his alpha-instincts purr, Jango lets out an appreciative growl.

Eyes roaming across the new expanse of pale skin on display, Jango shuffles closer, precum beading at the tip of his aching cock, dripping down the underside and following the trail of thick veins to join the growing patch of sweat and slick already staining his sheets. His omega is scarred - some pale lines that tell of a session in bacta, but others thick, badly healed lashes and burns that dot his skin almost as extensively as his freckles do, and it makes Jango chuckle darkly.

“You’re not just a spacer, are you _Ben_ ?” He croons playfully, catching the omega’s hips when he tries to rub back against him with a demanding little whine. His darker skin clashes quite nicely with the creamy paleness of the smaller man’s skin. “Patience, _ner dinui_.” He purrs, but ruts appreciatively against the swell of the younger man’s ass, thankful for his carefully trained self-control. Without it, he would have snapped long ago and pounded his omega into the mattress already.

Not to say that he isn’t going to do just that, but Jango likes to watch his partners fall apart first.

“Alpha!” The omega sobs with need, shaking apart under, and just to see what would happen, Jango ruts again, just a little more forcefully. The corded muscles in the omega’s back and shoulders flex, and Jango lets out a rumbling purr when the willing body under him barely moves.

Pretty and strong - just Jango’s type.

“Alpha! _Please_!”

“Tell me, mesh’la -” Jango growls, rocking forward again, and his little omega sobs, the smell of _want_ heavy in the air, “- your name.” The man shakes, hesitates, and Jango curls his arm around his heated body to trail his fingers teasingly along the omega’s inner thigh, moving towards his balls and pressing against the small sacks with just enough pressure to make the little redhead shriek, arousal spiking. “Tell me your name, my little omega.”

“Alpha! Alpha! Please!” His begging has a different sort of pitch to it, and Jango pinches to skin under his fingers in punishment. The man wails, overstimulated, and Jango thrusts against him violently. “ _Oh_!” He gasps, choking, “Ob- _Obi-Wan_!”

“Good boy.” Jango croons, gently pumping the younger man’s cock in reward - during Heat, the omega wouldn’t be able to get hard, all of his body’s energy going towards getting pregnant instead, but it would still feel good - and Obi-Wan purrs in response. “Such a good boy, so good, Ob’ika. Ner Ob’ika - my omega.” He soothes, slipping his fingers past the omega’s folds.

“Alpha!”

Jango chuckles, folding over the smaller body, blood burning under his skin at the touch of skin against his chest. He nibbles gently on his shoulder, nose trailing across the heated skin to lick at his mating gland, scraping sharp teeth across the hot skin there. “Call me Jango, _ner ven’riduur_.” He purrs, and Obi-Wan shivers.

“Jango.” He repeats obediently, stuttering and shaking under him, and Jango can’t quite help the thrust of his hips that comes in response, gasping wetly. His smart little omega catches on immediately, “ _Jango_! Jango please!

“Alright, _mesh’la_.” He rasps, self-control finally at an end, and he presses an open mouth kiss against Obi-Wan’s mating gland before straightening, fisting his weeping cock and nudging it against the ring of muscle.

His omega is slick, and loose, and more than ready.

Under him, Obi-Wan stiffens, and Jango growls as he pushes in with a snap of his hips. Obi-Wan howls, hands spasming against the wall, and Jango nearly doubles over, a whine rising in his chest at the feeling of _rightness_ that comes with being buried root-deep in the heat of an omega. His alpha hindbrain takes control almost immediately after, and Jango sets a brutal, unforgiving pace as he pounds into the omega under him, mind and instinct intent of knotting and breeding his begging omega.

The sound of growls, skin slapping skin, and the wails of an omega getting what his instincts want fills the room.

Surrounded by the smell of an omega deep in Heat for the first time in his life, Jango doesn’t last long before the swell of his knot starts catching on the rim of the omega’s cunt, and he folds over the smaller in preparation. He laves attention on the spongy mating gland just under the omega’s jaw, panting and snarling, and it’s really a testament to his rigorous training that he has lasted as long as he has.

One hand slams into the wall by Obi-Wan’s to support him as he picks up the frantic, stuttering pace, knot continuing to drag and catch, but not quite swollen enough to lock them together yet as his omega’s walls flutter around him. The other hand slides around pale hips to press against the omega’s lower stomach, already imagining the man swollen with his pups, breasts leaking with milk, and skin distended as their children move in his womb.

The image burning itself in Jango’s mind is what sends him over the edge - that and his omega clamping down around him as he comes, screaming his name like it’s the only word he knows.

Jango bites down just as his hips snap into the omega’s cunt one last time, knot swelling and locking them together as metallic blood gushes against his tongue and thick ropes of potent alpha-cum paints the omega’s inner walls.

Obi-Wan falls limp with one last howl, shutting down as his own orgasm rushes over him and the mating bond burns into place, going boneless and dragging Jango down with him. Jango doesn’t unlatch from the smaller man’s neck until he feels the foggy feeling of his omega’s aftershocks wash over him, and he gently laps up the few beads of blood that dots the now-marked and already-healing mating gland, purring with satisfaction. It would scar shiny and red within hours, and white within a week, marking Obi-Wan as the mate of the _Ven’alor_.

Hand still resting against the smaller man’s stomach, Jango rolls them both onto their sides, pressed flush against each other and sweat with sweat. It’s faintly distended, now longer flat but filled with an alpha-load of cum - not as much as he could produce during a Rut, but much more than any null or beta could produce.

Satiated and drowsy, Jango lets himself rest, curled protectively around his omega.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, while writing this: pEnIs? what is??  
> (Honestly, I just read more smut fics than I have ever before trying to figure this out)


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more sex in this chapter, and then this is it for a bit (according to my plans anyways, but it might change, idk yet). There's also some of that brainwashing I have in the tags.
> 
> (I made up some stuff about the Stewjoni people to play on the Breeding Kink that Jango definitely has)

Jango drifts awake to the feeling of a warm nose pressing against his neck and a weight on his lap, sharp teeth nibbling gently on his own mating gland, and it sends a spike of need down his back and straight to his cock - a cock that’s surrounded by a damp heat that makes him purr, hips twitching instinctively. His omega’s ministrations haven’t broken skin - as an alpha’s gland was much harder to mark than an omega’s - but it definitely felt nice to have his omega paying attention to it. He groans, stretching languidly and tasting the air around him with an open mouth as he blinks his eyes open.

He can still taste their earlier activities on his tongue and the spiciness of Heat has partially faded, but it’s still present, and a needy little whine draws his eyes to the pretty redhead perched on his lap. Obi-Wan had evidently woken up before him, and had impaled himself on Jango’s cock while he was still asleep - such a thing usually would have woken him up, so he must have been a lot more satisfied than he thought he had been when he had fallen asleep. The omega rolls himself desperately onto his alpha’s cock, frantically looking for something to take away the burning inside of him, and Jango can already feel that his knot has half inflated.

Jango reaches out, fingers pressing into pale hips hard enough to bruise as his hips jerk, and his omega pauses, straightening as the alpha lets out a hissing breath. “Good morning, _cyar’ika_.” He pants, letting his eyes roam across the pale skin stretched out above him, admiring each darkening bruise. His attention is drawn specifically to the shiny bite mark decorating the side of the omega’s neck, marking him as _Jango’s_. He must have been projecting his own satisfaction over their new bond, because Obi-Wan purrs, stretching lazily to show himself off. “Still in Heat, huh, _mesh’la_.” Jango moans, rocking his hips and admiring the way he can easily trace where his cock is sheathed inside of the omega, and Obi-Wan sighs in pleasure. “Got any words in you, Ob’ika?”

Obi-Wan blinks drowsily at him, silver pupils blown so wide that the blue-green of his irises are barely visible, and his answering moan is absolutely pornographic. “ _Jango_.” Slim, pale fingers press against his abs, exploring the skin he hadn’t managed to touch the night before, and Jango rumbles in appreciation, pushing his hips up against the omega on top of him.

Obi-Wan rolls to meet him, and Jango throws his head back with a groan, “You - you’re so good, _mesh’la_.” He pants. “ _Jate_ , Ob’ika, _gar’jate_. So fucking good. Just like that - I’m not - not going to last long.” Obi-Wan purrs, and the positive compliments seem to squeeze a bit more excitement out of the red haired omega, because his next bounce is a lot more enthusiastic, and Jango pushes one hand over his mouth, teeth digging into the skin, to muffle his shout as his knot swells completely, popping into place and locking the two panting man together.

This time, Jango gets a first row viewing to the steady swelling of the omega’s lower stomach as his alpha’s cum floods his womb, some squirting past his knot to trail down pale, muscular thighs.

Obi-Wan sighs in satisfaction, slumping into his chest, purring, and Jango wraps his arms around him, nuzzling against the top of his head, enjoying the loop of content pleasure the two of them are in. He lets himself calm down, before he drags himself from the pool of bonelessness that had fallen over them.

Ka’ra really had blessed him.

“Such a beautiful way to wake up in the morning.” He compliments, soothing a hand down the omega’s back, and he feels Obi-Wan’s lips press against his chest. “You’re so good to me, _mesh’la_.” The redhead croons sleepily, and Jango shifts his hips when he feels his knot deflating. His omega makes a sad noise, making Jango chuckle as he sits up, leaving Obi-Wan to sprawl limply against him while Jango’s cock slips out of him. “We need to wash up, _ner ven’riduur_.” Jango croons, and Obi-Wan makes a grumpy noise in the back of his throat that makes him chuckle as he gently dislodges the clingy omega from his lap. “C’mon, _cyare_ , up we get.” He says in amusement as he pulls the stubbornly limp omega from the nest they had made out of the dirty sheets, carefully manhandling him into the attached ‘fresher unit. “Wait here,” He orders, placing him on the seat of the toilet, and the young man’s head lolls in a sleepy nod.

Jango leaves his omega alone long enough to strip the filthy sheets from his bunk and toss them down the chute, before slipping back into ‘fresher to turn on the water in the shower and let the steam start to fill the room - he had been lucky that the moon had had so much water, and it hadn’t cost much to refill the tanks fully. He tests the temperature, nods, then steps back to move back to his omega.

The smaller man hadn’t moved at all, head resting against the wall, eyes closed, and it makes Jango smile faintly. “ _Jate_ , Ob’ika.” He croons, and Obi-Wan leans against him when he gets close enough. He’s still Heated enough that his emotions feel fuzzy, but calm enough that he could think mostly rationally beyond his need to be filled and bred. He tugs him to his feet, propelling him towards the shower. “C’mon, baby, almost there.”

Under the spray of hot water, Jango can’t help but smile as his little omega purrs, muscles relaxing even further as he slumps against the alpha holding him up. Hands coated in foamy soap, Jango runs them appreciatively across those strong hips and thighs as he scrubs his exhausted _cyare_ clean of the sweat from their previous activities, peeling off the layers of dry, crusted slick and cum stuck to pale skin.

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan slurs sleepily, leaning into his touch. The rough Outer Rim accent he must have appropriated for his disguise is long gone, too deep in his Heat pheromones to think about keeping it up, and Jango himself is finally clear headed enough to notice the refined Core accent curling his words.

Well, now he’s even _more_ curious about his omega’s true story.

But all in due time.

“ _Ba'gedet'ye_ , Ob’ika.” He huffs into shaggy red-blond hair, hands moving to gently rub along to corded muscles in his omega’s stomach, enjoying the feeling of the swell of his load straining against the skin. It sends a fission of possessiveness down his spine.

Obi-Wan must have picked up a flash of his thoughts through their mating bond, because the spicy Heat-scent sharpens as the omega sucks in a breath, tilting his head submissively to let the alpha suck a bruise into the side of his neck.

“ _Mesh’la_.” He purrs, hand moving to wrap around his omega’s Heat-limp cock, gently washing it, and it twitches just enough to tell Jango that his Heat is pretty close to ending. Obi-Wan moans, the smell of fresh slick filling the ‘fresher, making the steam heavier. “ _Ner Obi’ika_. _Ner ven’riduur_ \- so beautiful.” He murmurs, dropping the limp cock to move his attention to the puffy, abused lips of his omega’s cunt, spreading them to let the spend from earlier drip past his fingers. Obi-Wan squirms, and Jango groans. “You’ll be a vision from Manda - filled with my pups -” he moves his other hand to gently roll across his nipples, “- swollen with milk.” Obi-Wan moans, limp and complacent as he turns the smaller man around to stare into his dilated gaze, expression heated. “I may even have to nurse from you myself, to make sure you're flowing enough for our pups.” He rumbles, and the omega purrs in response, pupils silver - his omega is already imagining it, his need pounding like a heartbeat in Jango’s soul. “I wonder how many we’ll have.” He muses, pushing the redhead up against the wall and massaging his stomach.

Obi-Wan gasps something, copper lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks, and Jango pauses.

“What was that, Ob’ika?”

“Stew-” Obi-Wan gasps feverishly, “ _Stewjoni_.”

Jango stills, eyes widening and cock going rock hard: he’s heard of the flame-coloured people of the plains and mountains of Stewjon, any Mandalorian worth their beskar has and has dreamed of taking one as a _riduur_. The Stewjoni were a warrior race to compete against an Mando’ad, as fiery as their hair, and wildly fertile. Their genetic ability to carry multiple children was viewed as a gift to the Mandalorians; among baseline humans it was common to have one child every two years - but a Stewjoni would have litters of two or three, sometimes even more, and not suffer the same physical damage as a base Human would.

To Jango, who’s greatest, and most secret, desire in life - beyond the destruction of the _Kyr’stad_ \- is to have an entire pack of children to call his own and a partner who could help him teach them the ways of Manda, his omega has just cemented himself in his mind as a gift from Ka’ra.

Jango gasps, pushing against his omega and letting the smaller man feel the hard cock roll against his skin. Caged by his arms, Obi-Wan can only keen as and Jango’s alpha pheromones, thick and hot, drown out even the scent of the omega’s Heat-scent. “ _Ner Manda’dinui_.” He rasps, humping against the muscles of the younger man’s stomach, excitement burning under his skin, and his omega’s hips roll in response. Jango’s arms move to his ass, and Obi-Wan lets out an appreciative purr when the alpha lifts and pins him against the wall in a casual show of strength.

Muscular legs rise to wrap around his hips, drawing him closer to his goal, and Jango doesn’t draw it out this time to tease as he pushes into the velvety, burning heat of his omega’s core, and both men moan in unison.

“Such a good omega.” Jango rasps against the smaller man’s temple, and the Obi-Wan coos in response, his Heat rushing back to him, sinking into the pleasure and glee Jango pushes through his side of the mating bond as he begins to thrust, rocking in and out, and using his chest to keep his omega pinned. Jango keeps up the litany of praises as the smaller man rolls to meet his thrusts, both of them lost in the loop of sexual pleasure and chasing their own highs, surrounded by the earthy smell of an alpha’s desire and the sweet-spice of a Heated omega.

As his knot begins to form, Jango trails his attention towards the omega’s mating gland, shivering as the redhead mouths and suckles on his shoulder. His teeth tear through the skin a second time as his knot catches and holds, and stars explode behind his eyes as he comes with a muffled shout, knees banging together as his legs shake.

The omega’s sharp teeth pierce past his own mating gland, completing their mating as he muffles his own keen, and Jango gasps as their bond sharpens and strengthens. In his arms, his omega - and Jango is his alpha as much as Obi-Wan is his omega now - shakes with his own orgasm, before going limp and pliant.

“ _Jango…_ ” The omega sighs as he unlatches his teeth from Jango’s neck, and a warm tongue laps at the mark left behind as the sweet smell of a pleased omega fills his nostrils.

Jango lowers them slowly, still locked together at the hips as he rolls from his knees and onto his ass, still under the stream of warm water. “So good to me, _ner_ Ob’ika.” He murmurs, voice wrecked, against the warm skin of Obi-Wan’s neck. “ _Bid’jate_.” He praises, and the smaller man purr sleepily, ducking his head under Jango’s chin, blushing shyly.

It would seem his omega liked being praised - Jango would keep that in mind.

The spicy Heat-scent continues to fade as Obi-Wan’s breathing softens, and Jango curls possessively around the younger man. “Don’t leave me.” He murmurs, chest rumbling, and he feels the omega’s attention peak for a moment at the gentle order, dazed acknowledgement thrumming over the bond.

Now that he has his omega in his arms, he refuses to lose him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not used to using such crass language, so I have absolutely no idea if I went too far or not?? Please tell me if I overstepped or should add more tags
> 
> (ahm juste littol babey do not kno the smex)


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some more of that brainwashing plot + Obi-Wan acting the way he thinks Jango will want him to act

Obi-Wan falls asleep under the spray of warm water, exhausted and spent as his Heat ends, so Jango - ever the dutiful alpha - cares for him. He finishes washing him off, cleaning away the mess of their activities with gentle, loving hands. When he’s done, Jango turns off the stream of water, and gently dries the smaller man off, lifting him from the shower, wrapped in a towel, and he carries him back into the cabin, laying him down on the bunk, ignoring the water dripping from his own body in favour of making his omega as comfortable as possible as he slathers bacta gel across his bruises and along the rim of his entrance to sooth the worst of the aches he’d probably be feeling when he woke.

Not wanting his omega to feel forced into walking around naked, Jango goes about collecting a handful of his own clothes for the smaller man to wear when he wakes up. As much as Jango would love to get to watch him walk around in absolutely nothing, everything on display, he wants his omega to feel comfortable with their new life together. He’s not sure what had happened to Obi-Wan’s clothes before he had rescued him from the pirates, but he wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind to go looking for them.

Jango sets the dark clothes onto the shelf closest to the bunk, before moving back to the ‘fresher to finish drying himself off too, hopping into a clean pair of clothes. When he’s finished, he goes about carefully collecting his discarded _beskar’gam_ , stashing it away in the hidden wall once more. His omega is still fast asleep when he’s done, but his sleep isn’t as deep anymore, so Jango leans over the side of the bed to press a sweet kiss against the redhead’s forehead, running gentle fingers through soft flame-coloured hair.

“ _Be jate’kara_.” He murmurs, “ _Vor entye_ , Obi-Wan.”

He’ll be hungry when he wakes up, Jango knows; the Heat would have taken a lot of energy out of him, and Jango wants to prove to the omega that he can take care of him outside of his Heats too, that he can provide for him and any pups they have in the future.

Hopefully a future that’s already close.

Jango straightens, pulling his boots on as he heads out of the cabin and towards the small rec room on the shuttle that also holds the kitchen. It takes a little bit of digging, but Jango manages to collect enough ingredients to whip some high-fiber flat cakes up and, wanting to give his omega a treat, he even pulls out some dried fruit and Jango’s own stash of spiced chocolate rations to add to the batter, keeping half a mind on the pulsing bond in his soul that connected him to the young omega in the cabin.

He needs more rations, he realizes quickly; he hadn’t been prepared for the long trip back to Mandalore with a second person. He’ll need to make a pit stop, to resupply and buy his omega some of the things he’ll need. As he fries the cakes on the stove, he mentally reviews the flight pattern he had programmed into the navicomputer, considering what places would be best to make a stop at - and as much as he hates it, his best option is to make a stop in Hutt space.

The Hutts weren’t allied to either the Republic or to the Empire, but were loyal to the highest bidder instead - they were mostly independent, and Hutt space was mostly seen as neutral territory. You’d still get shot at if a loyalist to either side saw you, but there wouldn’t be any authorities sent after you.

It was his best option - but Jango hated the Hutts.

Dirty slavers the lot of them, and both Jango and Obi-Wan would fetch a lot of credits for anyone who managed to catch them.

Jango is drawn out of his thoughts when his bond with Obi-Wan tickles the back of his mind - his omega is waking up it seems, confusion heavy in his soul that’s quickly turning to alarm, and Jango sends the young man a soothing pulse of _comfort/home/safe_. He can feel the startle, he can feel the exact moment everything comes rushing back to the other man, before a thick blanket is pulled over the bond, muffling Obi-Wan’s emotions with a curtain of wool.

Jango can only sigh, pulling the flat cakes off of the burner, pulling out a plate and sliding them on, as he listens to the faintest shuffling of someone moving around in the hall, something he can only hear thanks to his sharper alpha-senses, and when he turns around he sees his omega standing in the doorway, dressed in one of Jango’s loose flight suits he used for his smuggler disguise. Jango can’t help but perk up at the sight of the redhead, smiling at him, “Good to see you awake, beautiful.” He greets, gesturing to the table with his chin, “Why don’t you take a seat, I’m almost done making first meal.” While Obi-Wan doesn’t respond, expression blank, he does slide into the seat, and Jango quickly turns to the cooler unit, pulling out a muja fruit for himself.

“Where are we?” Obi-Wan asks quietly, and Jango turns, glancing at him.

“Hyperspace.” His omega is pale as he watches him, shaking hands hidden in his lap, and Jango can feel the fear in their bond, muffled as it is. It’s a sickly feeling, but carefully masked; if Obi-Wan hadn’t completed their bonding ritual, he doubts he would have been able to feel it.

His omega shouldn’t need to be afraid of him; Manda wouldn’t have brought them together if they weren’t a good pair.

Quietly, Jango sets the plate of flat cakes onto the table and slides them over to the younger man. When he doesn’t automatically eat it, Jango sighs, “Eat.” He orders, and Obi-Wan’s fingers immediately curl around the fork, instinctively obeying his alpha. “You’ll need the nutrients.” The young man flinches slightly, shoulders curling forward, but he does start to eat. The rumbling purr Jango releases makes the redhead blush at the unworded praise.

It’s cute - but Jango wonders what kind of life his omega must have led to if such simple praise brings him pleasure.

“Good boy.” He murmurs so his omega knows that his faint flash of anger isn’t aimed at him, and his eating becomes just a little more enthusiastic - an omega’s instinctual desire to please their alpha. He knows the statistics, he had spent hours pouring over them as he grew; it’s likely that the seeds Jango had planted would take. Omegas were most fertile in their Heats, especially when it was a Heat spent with an alpha where their glands are marked. Jango had knotted him three times during his Heat - he’d probably be pregnant in the next few days if he wasn’t already.

Excitement thrums under his skin.

“It seems we have some talking to do, Ob’ika.” Jango drawls, leaning back to carve into his fruit with expert precision, and he sees his omega tense at the words.

“You’re Mandalorian.” Obi-Wan states, casting his gaze everywhere but Jango, and the alpha raises a slow eyebrow.

“So are you now, _ner sarad_.” He gestures to the shiny red bites on the man’s mating gland, and one pale hand slaps over the mark to hide it from Jango’s gaze.

Obi-Wan scowls at him thunderously, “You bit me.” He accuses, and Jango blinks, gently lifting his thumb to lick off the sticky fruit juice dripping onto the skin.

“You returned the favour.” He tells him, reaching up to tug down his own collar to show off the scabbed wound, and the omega’s blue-gray eyes shimmer silver as they follow the movement. Jango smirks slightly, popping a triangle of muja into his mouth. “We gave each other what we wanted.” He says simply, and his omega flinches, his fury thrumming over their bond.

“I was Heat-addled!”

Confused, Jango straightens out of his lounge, “You consented.” He says, planting his elbows onto the table and propping his chin on his fist. “You _begged_ me to, _mesh’la_.” The anger burns brighter, Jango’s rising to meet it as his eyes flash gold. “You want to leave.” He accuses, hands curling around the muja fruit.

The omega’s eyes shine silver for a moment as Jango’s pain at the thought fills the bond, and Obi-Wan stutters for a moment. The bond thrums foggily with anger, confusion, fear, before turning mutely horrified. “No.” The younger man gasps, desperate to please his alpha, and Jango rumbles in praise.

“Good omega.” He croons, staring into the redhead’s genuine gaze. The younger man’s brows are faintly furrowed, and Jango can feel that the omega is torn between his anger and the natural instincts of an omega. He sighs.

His omega is only hurting himself with his stubbornness; those instincts existed for a _reason_.

“Don’t fight yourself.” He orders him gently, and Obi-Wan twitches, “Your instincts aren’t here to hurt you - the opposite, _mesh’la_ \- just like I’m not.” As he talks, Obi-Wan slowly starts to relax, a gentle silver sheen to his pupils. Jango hums - it’s definitely a little frustrating that his omega seems so determined to fight his instincts, but he knows that it’s not likely that Obi-Wan grew up somewhere where he could have been taught how to properly cope with the extra gifts, considering his Core accent, and how much the Republic seemed to believe that alphas and omegas weren’t needed anymore. As Obi-Wan’s alpha, one properly taught in their ways, it’s Jango’s responsibility to help his omega relearn these things.

“Well -” Jango pops another sliver of fruit into his mouth “- as I was saying, it’s time to talk. We should get to know each other.” Obi-Wan stares at him, and Jango rolls his eyes fondly - looks like it’s up to him to break the ice. “My name is Jango Fett, I’m twenty-seven -” Fear rolls over the bond.

“You’re the heir.” The young man’s voice is carefully controlled, but he can’t hide his emotions from Jango thanks to their bond.

Jango hums, quite pleased that he wouldn’t have to explain his position to him. “ _‘lek_ Ob’ika - that means yes.” He tacks on as a quick translation, making a mental note to start teaching his omega Mando’a. It wouldn’t do for the _Ven’alor_ ’s mate to not know their language.

A tickle of bitter hopelessness radiates from Obi-Wan’s side of the bond, and Jango frowns at his mate. He’s not surprised, of course, even if he’s a little annoyed - Jango _knows_ that the Republic’s propaganda paints his people as merciless barbarians. Sure, historically they were, and Jango knows that the code of honour Jaster had written into the Creed every _ramikad_ swears themselves to isn’t widely known outside of Mandalore, and it wouldn’t exactly be very good for the Republic if it got out among the general populace. The civilians would quickly see how full of shit their senators were.

“I won’t hurt you, _mesh’la_.” He purrs, pushing his honesty over the bond. “My beautiful omega, you have nothing to fear from me. I just want you to be happy and safe at my side.”

Obi-Wan studies his face, “Will -” he chokes faintly on his question, looking torn, “- will you let me go home?”

Jango’s expression darkens, “Back to the bastard who sold you?” He spits in disgust, fury burning in his chest at the memory of the tall bastard, and his little omega twitches. “You _are_ home now, _ner sarad_. I’m bringing you home.” His omega flounders for a moment, evidently even more stubborn than Jango had originally thought if he’s still trying to fight off his instincts, even with the order Jango had given him for his own good. “Obi-Wan.” He says in soft warning, gold glittering in his eyes, and his omega freezes like a prey animal before relaxing. Jango gives him a proud rumble as silver shines in his colourful eyes. “Good omega.” He praises, reaching across the table to gently run his fingers along a pale cheek. Copper lashes flutter as the redhead leans into the touch, and Jango smiles. “And what about you, _ven’riduur_?” He probes, and the young man blinks lethargically, a noise of confusion slipping past his lips. “Tell me about yourself.”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Obi-Wan begins to talk. “My name is Obi-Wan.” He says stiltedly, and Jango smiles,

“Not Ben?” He teases, and the copper haired young man twitches.

“It’s a nickname.” Obi-Wan murmurs, and Jango nods, gently probing him to continue. “I’m eighteen standard.”

Jango smiles, purring his praise, and the young man’s head ducks. “What kind of things do you like, Ob’ika?”

“Books.” His omega blurts immediately, then blushes.

Jango hums, “I have plenty of articles on the history and cultures of Mandalore, I can give them to you if you’d like to read them?” Obi-Wan perks up almost immediately, interest burning in their bond, and Jango chuckles. His omega really was too cute. “Anything else?” He probes, taking mental notes for future gifts.

“I -” he flounders for a moment, thoughtful, “- I like plants - and animals. Science and languages as well.” Jango smiles, and the young man’s confidence grows, “When I was - a child, I collected model ships, but I haven’t in a while.” He admits.

Jango smiles, propping his chin on his palm, feeling overwhelming fondness for the pretty omega across from him. “I collect historical journals.” He shares, and Obi-Wan watches him with sharp intelligence hidden behind his carefully polite expression, “When I don’t want to be around others, I tend to hide out in the palace library - or the stables.” He can feel his omega’s interest, “We have purebred Mandalorian warhorses, and even some horses from the Stewjoni plains. I’ll take you riding some day.” He smiles again, and gets a shy one in response. “What about foods?”

Obi-Wan shrugs awkwardly, “I like tea?”

Jango huffs, eyeing his omega then gesturing at the half-full plate in front of him, and Obi-Wan blushes, carefully picking at his food once more. Jango makes a mental note to make sure Br. Gilamar gave the redhead a full medical exam once they arrived in Keldabe, to check his weight and blood sugar levels.

It would do no good for his mate or their pups if he didn’t stay on top of his eating habits.

“We’re making a stop on Tatooine.” He informs his omega, and the young man blinks in acknowledgement, eyes sharp. “You can pick out what you want in the markets there, and we’ll buy you some clothes of your own - as lovely as you are in mine.” He tacks on with a purr, possessiveness rolling in his stomach.

“Alright.” Obi-Wan says, ducking his head once more, and Jango beams at the sight of the pink flush on his pale cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite me trying to make this a Dark fic (which it definitely is!) I keep writing Jango as a (kind of manipulative) sweetheart, whoops


	6. Six

Obi-Wan isn’t a very good Jedi; he’s known this since he was the little boy in the creche being scolded for being too angry, too quick to fight and rise to slights, too passionate. Too feral. An omega wasn’t suited for the life a Jedi demands from their members, they’re too hard to control, too likely to give into their baser instincts, and Jedi can’t just do that. He’s _tried_ \- he’s bent himself backwards and twisted himself around over and over again to prove that stereotype wrong, and he thought he was managing to do so. He was taken on as a padawan, despite those who said he couldn’t, and he had worked to emulate what was needed of a Jedi, and he thought it was working.

But he still gave into those baser instincts, he had lost himself to those shameful urges that he should have been able to control, he had lost everything he was working towards.

The mission was supposed to be _easy_ ; simple reconnaissance looking into a drug smuggling operation with a possible connection to the Sith Empire and Moraband. He and Master Qui-Gon had gone undercover on Leas - a relatively unimportant moon in the grand scheme of things, but with connections to the criminal underbelly of the Republic. To the people on Leas, Djin and Ben Tal were an uncle and nephew pair, just simple spacers with an unfortunate love for gambling and flirting respectively, and they had easily integrated themselves in with the community over the last couple days. Qui-Gon had managed to get himself an in with the pirates they were investigating, and it was Obi-Wan’s job to stake out any other possible informants while also playing the part of a flirtatious young man.

He had seen a possible mark in the cantina that night, a handsome man with broad shoulders at the bar wearing the clothes of a smuggler. Obi-Wan could admit that he had gotten a little more… enthusiastic about playing his part around the man whose eyes glittered a familiar gold, but he had felt drawn to him, and he had been flattered that the man seemed just as drawn to him. Obi-Wan wasn’t a stranger to flings, he’d had plenty with his agemates, but the smuggler had probably been the only stranger Obi-Wan had ever found himself actually considering falling into bed with. Qui-Gon had needed to remind him to keep focused on the mission, and Obi-Wan had felt ashamed afterwards when it had sunk in why he had been so drawn to him in the first place.

The man at the bar had been an alpha - an _unsuppressed_ alpha.

While Obi-Wan had met a few alphas in his life - his age mate Siri Tachi being one, and the Sith warrior Xanatos du Crion being another - he had never met one who went unsuppressed. In Republic space, it was illegal for an alpha or omega not to suppress, even if it was really only enforced in the Core Worlds; alphas, betas, and omegas were already rare, an unneeded biological quirk that was dying out with every generation. Obi-Wan himself had been on a strict suppressor regiment since he was given to the Jedi Order as a toddler, and had never gone off of them unless for medical reasons, and yet his judgement had been clouded because he happened upon a handsome alpha.

When Qui-Gon had told him of his plan to get the information on the smuggling ring over their training bond, Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to muffle his immediate desire to argue against it. Being sold as an ‘indentured servant’ wasn’t exactly Obi-Wan’s idea of a sound plan, but Qui-Gon was his Master, he was older and much more experienced than Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan didn’t want to disappoint him again. So he had swallowed his arguments, and he had bowed to Qui-Gon’s command.

He had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

And he had been right: Qui-Gon’s plan had led to Obi-Wan chained, naked and unpleasantly hot on a cool durasteel floor with a crowd of equally naked beings standing over him, touching him despite not being the kind of touches his body wanted. They weren’t _alphas_ , and Obi-Wan had snarled at them - he had bitten the Nautolian that had gotten a little too excited hard enough to draw blood, and he had bared his green-stained teeth at the others in an obvious threat. It had been an uncomfortable realization that Obi-Wan had come to after those thoughts had slipped through his mind - he was in Heat.

He was in Heat, for the first time in his life since his first at fourteen, and his grasp on the Force was slipping. Whatever had been in the drugs also seemed to be an effective Force suppressor as well; Obi-Wan would have to get a sample to take back back to the Temple to give to Master Che to study. His bond with Qui-Gon was fuzzy, but the man was promising that he was on his way to get him, and all Obi-Wan could do was trust in his Master.

But it wasn’t Qui-Gon who came, it was a figure in hauntingly familiar armor - it was the kind of figure that haunted the dreams of younglings.

A Mandalorian.

A Mandalorian who had taken him from the pirates, sedated him, and then marked him like property while he was Heat-addled and couldn’t fight back.

Obi-Wan is scared; he’s alone, weaponless, trapped on a ship with an alpha - Jango Fett, the heir to the Mandalorian Empire himself - he now shares a fully formed mating bond with, still unable to grasp the Force while his body recovers from the drugging and Heat, and trying desperately to stay on his captor’s good side. He’s not afraid of death, but he is afraid of what other things Fett could do to him, he’s afraid of his own body’s reactions.

He’s unsuppressed and trapped in close quarters with an alpha for the first time in his life, and for some reason the thought of trying to escape makes him feel sick. He doesn’t want to leave his alpha.

Obi-Wan forces himself to shake the thought from his head, disgusted with himself and his instincts - instincts that are getting harder and harder to fight as the hours begin to pass. He curls his shoulders forward, trying to keep himself quiet and unassuming as he turns his attention back towards the datapad Fett had given him, continuing to scroll through the honestly fascinating article on it about the recent history of the Mandalorian Empire, comparing the new cultural changes introduced by Mand’alor Jaster Mereel - Fett’s father - to that of previous rulers. Half of these things, Obi-Wan had never even heard of, but admittedly it wasn’t like the Jedi Temple had a lot of recent history written on Mandalore, since the Empire was both an ancient enemy almost as prevalent as the Sith, and notoriously secretive. But apparently Obi-Wan is allowed to know because by Mandalorian law, he’s one of them, and has been since the moment Fett had marked his mating gland, and Obi-Wan had marked Fett’s in turn while under the influence of his Heat.

He still aches from it, in his bones and his lower stomach, he feels wrung out like he had been training himself into the ground all day, but the satisfaction of training is different from his accursed biology telling him that he should be feeling complete.

It had felt so _good_ -

 _No_ , Obi-Wan growls at himself, then startles at the animalistic sound he releases. He’d never heard himself make such a noise, and it makes dread pool in his stomach; the longer he was off his suppressors, the more at risk he was to lose control of himself again, especially when he could still taste his own Heat pheromones lingering in the air of every corner of the ship, pushed through the vents and spread throughout the shuttle. It made him tingle, and made his lower stomach feel cramped with sexual frustration, and every time he sees Fett he has to stop his immediate desire to sink himself down onto his -

“Stop it.” He snarls at himself, hands clenching around the datapad and he’s thankful that Fett had given him space to read privately while he made a show of plotting out their star-course, giving Obi-Wan time to sink into himself and really think about the trouble he’s found himself in. He doesn’t want to think about _it_ , but his traitorous mind and biology - what he was _supposed_ to have control over, instead of letting it control him - simply keeps bringing back the images and memories of the day before, of how good it felt to be filled, the euphoria of having a knot catch on his rim and hold as hot semen spilled into him. The release of endorphins that followed, and left him feeling boneless and happier than he has any memory of feeling. “Enough, Kenobi.” He chokes, but the scent of petrichor lingers in his pallet, cloying and tempting and relaxing all at once. It makes him want to bare his throat and let the strong alpha take care of him, and Obi-Wan, who has never been off his suppressors, honestly doesn’t know how to handle these stimulants - his Jedi training works to a point, but it’s no use if he keeps having to catch himself before he falls into the instincts of an omega once more.

 _Don’t fight yourself_ , Fett had crooned, voice deep and soft and crawling into all those parts of Obi-Wan’s soul that makes him want to obey. It echoes in his mind, reverberates in his very core, and Obi-Wan doesn’t want to fight himself any more.

It’s exhausting.

His biology isn’t here to hurt him, otherwise he wouldn’t have been born this way.

_(Right?)_

He shouldn’t want to leave his alpha, Jango isn’t going to hurt him - he just wants him happy, he just wants Obi-Wan with him, where he’s safe. They’re going to have pups together, and Jango is taking him home.

_(Where is home?)_

Obi-Wan blinks heavily at the blue light of the datapad in his hands, a foggy contentedness falling over him as he rests the ‘pad on his knees, hands moving instead to press against his lower stomach. He misses the fullness that he had woken up with, the feeling of his alpha’s seed inside of him, swelling him in it’s potentness, and he wants to feel that again.

_(Does he?)_

The smell of fresh rain and earth after a storm invades his mouth once more, and Obi-Wan feels possessiveness not his own roll across the mating bond he shares _(forced upon)_ with the alpha, and startles, pulling his attention back to himself, to find Jango leaning in the doorway. The man is reclining easily in the way that draws Obi-Wan’s eyes to his broad shoulders and the corded muscles in his arms.

“ _Su cuy'gar_ , _cyar’ika_.” Jango rumbles, and Obi-Wan had read through the language primer his alpha had given him enough to know that the man is greeting him. “I brought late meal.” He says easily, nodding to the tray in his hands. The golden of an alpha shines in his pupils at the sight of him, and Obi-Wan shivers faintly in desire _(fear)_.

Obi-Wan has to force his mouth to move, gently taking the tray Jango is offering him, and his skin tingles when the alpha’s hands linger on his. “Thank you.” He says politely, and the smile the alpha gave him was warm, sweet and gentle, and it makes Obi-Wan feel _things_.

_(He shouldn’t)_

“You don’t have to thank me, _ner dinui_.” Jango tells him, pulling up a chair. “I’m here to look after you.”

Obi-Wan’s pride prickles, and he hisses at the man in displeasure - cutting himself off by clamping his mouth closed, fear blooming in his chest. He cringes back from the alpha, expecting the Mandalorian to attack him for his insolence, and Obi-Wan mentally curses himself again for not being able to get a handle on his damned biology. He’s trying to stay on Fett’s good side, and getting offended at the thought that he can’t look after himself isn’t helping.

But Fett doesn’t attack him, instead, Obi-Wan can feel his amusement over their mating bond, and the man chuckles.

Adrenaline rushing through his veins, Obi-Wan scowls at the Mandalorian, insulted and annoyed in ways he hadn’t been since he was an Initiate. “I don’t need to be looked after.”

“Of course not.” Fett agrees pleasantly, pulling a retractable table from the wall before plopping the food onto it. He lifts one of the mugs off the tray with an amused little smile, and Obi-Wan bristles. A single person hadn’t made him so infuriated since Bruck had when they were children; but this was a different sort of infuriated. Fett lit a fire in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. “That’s why you were chained up by pirates.”

“I was working on it.” The padawan huffs, turning his eyes to the tray of fruits and rations, then studies the mug of what looked like Hoth chocolate, flecked with red and steaming pleasantly. It smelt delicious.

Fett nods, humouring him, and Obi-Wan scowls at him, “Of course you were.”

“I had a plan.” He grumps; he’s tired, he’s sore, and the smell of the pheromones in the recycled air of the shuttle are putting him on edge in all the ways Obi-Wan doesn’t want to be. _(Right?)_ “It was a very good plan.”

“I bet.” Jango agrees, giving the food a pointed look towards the food that has Obi-Wan gently lifting the second mug, earning another one of those beautiful smiles that gives him mixed feelings.

Obi-Wan growls quietly, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a petulant sip, then gasps when flavour explodes against his tongue, eyes widening as he pulls the mug away again and stares at the chocolatey liquid inside of it. He had expected Hoth chocolate, and yes, that was what he got, but it was spicier, leaving a pleasant burn in his sinuses as an aftertaste.

“You like it?” The man asks, grinning in delight, and Obi-Wan ducks his head, nodding quietly as he lifts the mug once more. “It’s called _het’pirur_ \- hot Mandalorian chocolate, we add spices to it to make it _hetikles_.”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan says quietly, taking another quick mouthful. “It’s nice.”

Across from him, Jango laughs - deep and warm and rumbling - and Obi-Wan flushes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> het’pirur is basically just Aztec Hot Chocolate with a name I made up


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last of my pre-written chapters, and work is starting back up again, so I won't be posting as often any more, on any of my stories, until I get back into the swing of things

Twenty year old, freshly Knighted, Jedi Shadow Quinlan Vos sweeps through the Coruscant Jedi Temple like a thunderstorm, scowling furiously at everything and nothing at once and determined to reach his objective.

He had just returned to the Temple after a month-long mission in Sith-controlled space, tired and wound up and ready to go track down Obi-Wan to invite the redhead to have a night with him, to burn off any leftover aggression together because the younger Jedi had always been open for a little bit of rough play if it was what Quinlan needed, and would never hold his emotions against him like any others might. None of their other agemates understood the oily feeling that burrowed under your skin and clung to your very bones, sucking the warmth from your very being like Obi-Wan did. Their agemates were spoiled in their safety, protected from the worst of the war by those around them, but Quinlan didn’t have that liberty - he had been picked and trained to be a Shadow, one of those who were sent into Sith space to fight the Darksiders. He touched the Dark on a regular basis, and the Dark tended to cling.

Obi-Wan was the only other person who knew what it felt like to have Darkness cling to his very soul, he had been captured and tortured by a Sith warrior who had wanted to make a mindless slave out of the redhead. Quinlan had been one of the few who had sat with him during his nightmares afterwards, who had tried to comfort him after night horrors where du Crion had succeeded in wiping away everything that made him Obi-Wan Kenobi, Quinlan was one of the very few people who understood Obi-Wan’s utter terror of losing his sense of self.

Quinlan was one of the few people that Obi-Wan trusted enough to let go of his iron-tight control over himself, and Obi-Wan was the only one who understood Quinlan’s need to lose control.

So Quinlan had arrived, ready to go hunt down his friend, when a shaken Bant came to him. The young Mon Cal had looked close to tears, stressed beyond her seventeen years, and she had told him something that made him stumble in horror.

Master Jinn had returned from his mission hours before Quinlan had, but he had returned without Obi-Wan.

Quinlan had gone stiff, and all he could think of was the last time the Jedi Master had left on a mission with his padawan, and came back without, when Master Jinn had abandoned Obi-Wan to die and had lied when asked why his thirteen year old padawan wasn’t with him. Jinn had lied to them for eight months, he had spun a story about how Obi-Wan had decided that the life of a Jedi wasn’t the life for him, brushing off every single one of the redhead’s friends who tried to argue that being a Jedi was the only thing Obi-Wan had ever wanted in life, instead saying that his barely-teenaged padawan had made the decision to turn his back on the teachings of the Order himself.

And then Obi-Wan had come back, scarred and haunted, and Jinn was allowed to take him on as his padawan again, he faced no consequences for abandoning his padawan in a warzone and then lied about it, and once again Obi-Wan’s friends were ignored. They tried to tell anyone who listened that Obi-Wan deserved better, that Master Jinn was the one in the wrong, but they were brushed aside.

Heart thundering in his ears, Quinlan takes another sharp turn, eyes locking onto the tall, brown haired Human Master standing with Masters Dooku and Windu. All three men’s faces were grave, but Quinlan only has eyes for Master Jinn, who turns the moment Quinlan’s sharp Force presence catches his attention.

“Knight Vos, welcome back-”

“Where is he?!” Quinlan interrupts, shoulders stiff and the Force buzzing around him angrily. “What did you _do_!”

“Control yourself, Knight Vos.” Dooku says sharply, expression one of pinched disgust, but Quinlan ignores him, drilling into Jinn’s eyes furiously.

“ _Where’s Obi-Wan_?”

“Mind your emotions, Knight Vos.” Jinn orders coldly, and Quinlan stiffens even further, grinding his jaw. “You do yourself no favours if you cannot control yourself.”

Quinlan bares his teeth, “Your own padawan - _my friend_ \- is missing, _again_ , and you’re telling me to calm down.” Jinn’s blue eyes flash, and the Master draws himself up to his full height. Quinlan wants to reach out and shake the Human. “Now, where. _Is_. _He_?”

“Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi were assigned to investigate possible connections between a drug smuggling operation and the Sith.” Master Windu speaks up, and Quinlan scowls as Jinn turns his eyes away from the young Kiffar, arms folded into his sleeves. “There were some… _unexpected_ circumstances to their plan.” The Korun sends Jinn an almost unreadable expression - one that Quinlan wouldn’t have been able to read if the look hadn’t been aimed at him multiple times, and he can place it as one of quiet reprimand. “Padawan Kenobi was taken by a third party.”

“ _What_?!” Quinlan snarls, fists clenching and unclenching on the desire to turn around and break Master Jinn’s nose all over again. “Then why are you _here_ , and not out getting him back?!”

Master Jinn sighs, “The Council ordered me to return.” He says blankly, “Obi-Wan was taken by a Mandalorian warrior. The Senate has declared rescuing one Jedi padawan as a lost cause, unimportant compared to the fragile peace between the Republic and the Empire.”

“You’re supposed to be _the maverick_ Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn!” Quinlan shouts, gesturing angrily, “Why would you _accept_ that?!”

“I don’t like it.” Jinn says blankly, “But I will not let my emotions control me. The Order can’t go back to war with Mandalore, not while fighting the Sith, I’m saddened by Obi-Wan’s loss but it won’t help anyone if I recklessly run off.”

“It would help _Obi-Wan_!”

Cold blue eyes flash with restrained anger as the stare into flaming brown, “Would it? Or would it make everything worse? Why should millions suffer for one padawan who knew the risks?”

Quinlan yells wordlessly, lunging forward and planting his fist right into Jinn’s face, momentarily enjoying the way the Jedi Master stumbles, but then Master Windu is pulling him back, sharp, reprimanding voice washing over him, muffled by the sound of his blood pounding in his ears.

“You don’t deserve him!”

“-that’s enough Knight Vos!” Master Windu says, and Quinlan glares as Jinn straightens, pressing a hand against his bloody nose. “You are out of bounds.” Quinlan stumbles slightly when the taller Jedi forces him away, the Korun’s displeasure at the entire situation obvious in his Force signature as he frowns at him. Windu had liked Obi-Wan, Quinlan knew that well enough, and he was obviously bothered by the redhead’s kidnapping. “Control yourself.” Quinlan scoffs and straightens, irritated but quiet, and the Master’s dark eyes flicker across his face, studying him. Probably to see if the Shadow would throw himself at someone again. “Return to your room, Knight Vos, and write your report for review.”

Quinlan’s jaw clenches, and bows stiffly. “Yes Master Windu.” He says, turning on his heel and walking away.

“You’re not going to have him punished?” Dooku’s slimy voice probes, and Quinlan hears the Master of the Order sigh.

“No.”

Quinlan makes it to his apartment in record time, feeling like his head had been stuffed with burning cotton, tongue stuck to the top of his mouth in his fury. He knows, deep down, that the Masters are right, that he’s letting his emotions and love for his friend get away from him, and that to send Jedi after Obi-Wan and the Mandalorian bastard who had taken him would invite another war onto their doorstep, when the Order was already stretched thin fighting the growing Sith Empire on the Republic’s border.

But Obi-Wan is his friend.

His _best_ friend.

And yeah, Quinlan is bloody attached - there’s a reason why he was chosen as a Shadow, because he already toed the line between Light and Dark, and knew the risks of Falling better than anyone. He’s selfish, and angry, and he feels strongly. Quinlan can’t just leave him without at least _trying_ to save him - but any Jedi in Mandalorian space would reignite the Republic-Mandalore war.

“Quin?” A quiet, gentle voice interrupts his thoughts, and Quinlan’s head snaps up to find a familiar little Twi’Lek girl laying her hand on his knee. He wasn’t even aware that he had sat down, but apparently he had, because he’s on the rickety, uncomfortable couch that was in every single Knight-apartment in the Temple, and Aayla is watching him. The eight year old’s expression is openly worried, wide hazel eyes peering up at him, her lekku twitching, “Are you okay?”

“I-” Force, the idea in his mind is insane, it would mean the loss of Quinlan’s entire life. He’d need to leave everything and everyone behind, including the little girl he had rescued and claimed as his future padawan.

Aayla would recover. She was strong, intelligent, brave, and bright in the Force, any Master would be happy to take her - she’d make a great Knight someday, Quinlan knows this for sure, better than he could ever be. Master Tholme would take her, or even Master Koon, this Quinlan was sure of.

Aayla’s eyes go even wider, impossibly sad, “You’re going to leave again, aren’t you?” She asks quietly, and Quinlan swallows. She had been looking forward to becoming his padawan, she had been so proud that he would be willing to take her after everyone deemed her too old, and Quinlan had fought to have her inducted into the Order as an Initiate.

“Can I come with you?”

Quinlan startles, staring into Aayla’s wide, genuine eyes, “No.” He says the moment he manages to get his voice back, and Aayla’s lekku twitch with displeasure. “No, kiddo, it won’t be safe for you.”

“I can be helpful!” Aayla tells him, “Master Yaddle tells me that I’m getting so much better at Ateru!”

Quinlan shakes his head, “No, no, Aayla. I know that you’re good and talented, but it’s _not safe_.” He gently takes the young Twi’Lek’s small hands, squeezing them between his own. “I’m going to be doing something stupid, kid, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Well,” Aayla sniffs, “If you’re doing something stupid then I should be coming! You’ll need someone to watch your back.”

“ _No_.” He stresses, and Aayla frowns at him, “I’m leaving the Order, Aayla, and I don’t think I’ll be coming back.” Her eyes go even wider, “And you’re going to stay here, kid. You’re going to be an amazing Jedi.”

The youngling sniffles, teary-eyed, and she rips her hands away from his, jumping to her feet, “I don’t wanna be a Jedi without you!” She wails, turns on her heel, and flees the room.

Quinlan watches her leave mournfully, feeling horrible, but he knows it's for the best, so instead of going after her, Quinlan stands and starts packing.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of sexual stuff in this chapter

Jango guides the ship down into the sands outside of Mos Espa, dressed once more in his _beskar’gam_ and ready for trouble. The last week and a half in hyperspace had been… _tense_ , to say the least, as Obi-Wan got used to his new life, and Jango had given him space to think it over, setting up an extra cot in the cockpit to let his omega keep the cabin for himself. They had meals together every day, and it warmed Jango to see the younger man relaxing steadily with every moment together that passed, growing to accept his biology and instincts and Jango as his alpha. Of course, he still smelt stressed, which definitely wasn’t good for his health, and was still actively blocking most of the mating bond, but he was getting so much better and Jango made sure to tell him this every time they were together.

The stale smell of Heat pheromones and Jango’s own earthy pseudo-Rut scent still lingered in the recycled air of the ship, putting both alpha and omega into a constant state of sexual frustration that Jango had had to work himself through in the ‘fresher every day, and he knew from the smell that Obi-Wan had been doing the same - which definitely didn’t help him any in controlling his desire.

 _Manda_ , he wished that his omega didn’t feel so ashamed of himself, so shy about their bond, that they could work through the aggression together, but he respects the younger man enough to wait until he comes to him or until one of them falls into their cycle. His omega was definitely starved of touch, from the way he would lean into any and all touch Jango offered, more easily now after a week of Jango easing him into it with small brushes and light, barely-there touches, that left Obi-Wan’s desire for more to filter through the thick blanket the younger man had tied around his side of the bond.

At least the sour fear-scent had mostly begun to fade.

Standing from the pilot’s seat, Jango props his _buy’ce_ on his hip, striding from the cockpit and towards the cabin where his omega has locked himself away - Jango’s almost saddened that the shuttle isn’t his, that once he gets back to Keldabe he won’t be sleeping surrounded by his omega’s scent until he gets Obi-Wan situated and comfortable. He knocks on the door momentarily to announce his arrival, before he taps the keypad to open it, allowing him to step into the room and drop his _buy’ce_ onto the bed.

For a moment, when he doesn’t see Obi-Wan immediately, Jango panics irrationally, but the smell of his omega isn’t stale. There’s a muffled buzzing in their mating bond that leads him to the ‘fresher, where he can hear the faint noise of water running through the door, and when he raises his fist to knock on the door, the water turns off and it swishes open, letting Jango stare into wide blue-green eyes as the younger man hurriedly tries to straighten his shirt.

The alpha’s nose twitches, stepping closer instinctively to scent his omega, and Obi-Wan stills as Jango taps their foreheads together in a gentle _kov’nyn_. “Alright, Ob’ _ika_?” He rumbles questioningly, inhaling his omega’s scent as warmth blooms in his chest and his soul purrs in satisfaction.

“Yes, yes. Fine.” The omega says, voice pitched, hands twitchy, and eyes wide, and Jango eyes the smaller man, hand rising to gently press against his pale cheek, thumb tracing under his eye. There’s something _familiar_ but _different_ about his scent, and Jango presses closer, nose twitching again, and he picks up the heavy, iron scent of blood - very faint, but smelling differently from regular blood.

His hand presses harder against Obi-Wan’s face to force his eyes to meet his own, and Jango growls in warning, pheromones rising to push against the younger man. He expects his omega to admit to what happened, but instead, Obi-Wan bristles and growls back, his own pheromones lashing out against his, unexpectedly aggressive. The omega’s arms rise, curling around his middle protectively as he bares his teeth right back at him, pupils gleaming silver, and Jango stills as he finally recognizes the scent clinging to his mate, the scent that had been hidden under his fear and the stale scents already polluting the air.

A smell he hadn’t actively been around for six years, since the last time Arla had been - _pregnant_.

Omegas were supposed to become more aggressive weren’t they? As one of the earliest signs of a successful breeding, before even their hormones began to change to adjust their body for their pregnancy, it was a sign of a successful implantation. Omegas were biologically made to carry pups, they evolved to repopulate, but even they could miscarry with enough outside interference.

There was a reason why so many Mandalorian legends sang about the fire brought to the world by a pregnant omega.

Jango takes a careful, measured step back, despite how much he wants to reach out and gather his pregnant omega into his arms. It wouldn’t do them any good if he made him feel cornered, so Jango reels back his more aggressive pheromones, and instead projects gentle love over their bond, letting it wash up against the wall and seep through the cracks. He’s his alpha and the father of their pups, and it doesn’t take long for Obi-Wan to remember that. Within moments, Obi-Wan starts to relax, shoulders unwinding and hand instead laying lightly over his stomach, and Jango purrs softly, invitingly, probing gently at their mating bond.

Obi-Wan hesitates, staring at him, and takes half a step forward, spine stiff as he lets Jango fold his arms around him. “Did you need something?” The red-haired omega asks stiltedly, tilting his head to let Jango press his nose against his mating gland, and he relaxes even further as the alpha’s rumbling purr vibrates through both of their bodies.

“We just landed.” He rumbles, “How’re you feeling, _ner dinui_? _Me'vaar ti gar_?”

“ _Naas_.” His omega replies quietly, huffing, and Jango chuckles, kissing the scarred bites on the smaller man’s neck, warmed by the use of their language on his mate’s tongue. The redhead melts into his grasp, and for a moment, the thick blanket he had pulled over their bond loosens, and Jango pushes his own _love/safe/home/adoreyou_ through the cracks that he’s been given.

“How are you feeling, _really_ , Ob’ _ika_?” He probes, kissing the younger man’s jaw, and Obi-Wan twitches. He picks up a flutter of stubbornness, and he rolls his eyes fondly. “ _Obi-Wan_.” Jango scolds, and Obi-Wan grumbles in quiet annoyance, but his stubborn intentions are fading. “I can smell blood on you.”

“Just some light bleeding.” Obi-Wan says quietly, unease in his scent, and Jango kisses his cheek, purring his praise. Obi-Wan sinks even further against his chest, his scent much sweeter than before, and the block on their mating bond has grown even weaker.

Jango smiles, excitement burning under his skin, and he draws his omega even closer to his chest, bending down to gently slot their lips together, swallowing the noise of surprise the redhead releases in response. His omega’s mouth is soft and pliant, though mostly unresponsive, but Jango can sense the exact moment when the redhead’s resolve crumbles in the face of the alpha’s probing, the love he’s wiggled through the younger man’s iron-clad shields taking root and blossoming in his omega’s soul.

His mate is such a stubborn thing, but Jango has learned from the best at how to sway people to his side; he may not personally like the Integration Programme, but Jango can see the need for it, especially now. The _Ven’Mando’ade_ coming to them needed the help to adjust to their new culture and home, and to relearn how to live away from the propaganda of their birth worlds - just like his _cyare_ needs his help to learn how to flourish away from the Republic’s oppression. Jango would help him, he’d protect him and guide him through this new chapter in their lives, and Obi-Wan would be glorious and beautiful and loved.

His _riduur_ is already beautiful, but soon he’ll be swelling with their pups, and Jango can already imagine what they’d look like. Little pups with dark curls and blue eyes, freckles and bronze skin, maybe they’d have Obi-Wan’s slimmer frame, or Jango’s nose, maybe they’d even be alphas or omegas. There were studies done that proved that children born of an alpha/omega pair had a much, _much_ higher chance of being born with their parents’ secondary gender. He can see it in his mind’s eye, his omega fat with their pups, chest leaking with milk, a baby in his arms and children clinging to his legs, and it makes heavy desire curl deep in his gut.

Jango deepens the kiss as Obi-Wan gasps, nipping at those soft lips and carefully stepping back, pulling his mate with him as he traces his tongue across the redhead’s and tastes the sweet fruit of their first meal on his breath. The back of his knees hit the side of the mattress, and Jango pulls away just enough to inhale deeply, a string of saliva following his mouth, and the spicy tingling of his aroused omega in heavy in the air around them, Jango’s own wet-earth scent mingling with his, making the air taste like a lightning storm trapped with the walls of a ship. His omega looks absolutely _wrecked_ with his swollen lips, soft hair a mess and pale skin flushed red, eyes wide and silver-sheened pupils blown.

“ _Ner’tracyn sarad_.” Jango croons, hands dropping to the younger man’s hips, and he pulls his omega down with him when he drops onto the bunk, letting his _riduur_ perch on his lap. He pulls him into another, fierce kiss as the electric feeling in the air grows sharper, and Obi-Wan’s fingers dig into his shoulders almost painfully as he, almost-instinctively, grinds against the codpiece of the _Mando’ad_ ’s armour. The mixture of pain-pleasure makes Jango growl, rocking up against the redhead’s clothed cock and hidden cunt both. “ _Mhi ba'juri verde_.” He snarls possessively, one hand slipping past the waistband of his _cyare_ ’s borrowed flight suit, to palm at the redhead’s toned ass hard enough to leave a bruise, the other sliding up the smaller man’s spine and into copper hair.

“ _Alor_.” His omega groans, shivering when the alpha tugs his head back, exposing the pale column of his neck. “Jango.” There’s a flutter of _something_ on Obi-Wan’s side of the bond, but it’s there and gone in the face of their shared pleasure.

Jango kisses the redhead’s mating gland, rubbing clothed fingers into the muscles of his omega’s ass, pushing his pheromones into the heated air, and Obi-Wan moans, shivering against him. “Blast it.” He murmurs under his breath, pulling his hands out of his mate’s pants to tug off his gloves.

Disembarking can wait.

He lifts the omega off of his lap, letting him sprawl onto the bunk as he stands, and, impatient, Jango just strips out of his codpiece, fisting his steadily hardening cock as he wedges himself between Obi-Wan’s spread legs. The omega is red, his chest heaving, and wide silvered eyes stare up at the ceiling, and he moans when Jango’s hands start working his pants down his hips, releasing the omega’s own hard cock. Leaning down, the _Mando’ad_ gently kisses the tip, and his mate whines, hips jerking. Jango lets the redhead’s hot cock slip past his lips, hollowing his cheeks and dipping his head, swallowing around it and enjoying the breathless little noises he draws from his mate as he trails his tongue along the underside of the omega’s sensitive shaft, his scarred mating gland tingling pleasantly at his mate’s pleasure.

His mate stutters, shakes, and gasps, “St-stop!” He manages to cry out, mostly coherent, and Jango stills, confused. But his confusion steadily turns to alarm when the young man dissolves into sobs. “Please - please stop!”

He stops.

Jango pulls himself off of the omega, attention no longer on pleasure, but on the tears shimmering on his _cyare_ ’s long copper lashes. The younger man is paler than usual, his cheeks violently flushed and eyes screwed shut, and he flinches when Jango reaches out to gently cradle his face, thumbs rubbing away wet tear tracks on his omega’s face, as he lets out a comforting purr. “Shhs, _cyare_.” He soothes, “ _Me'copaani_?”

“I - I don’t want -” His omega sobs, his distress obvious, and it’s painful for Jango to know that even now his _riduur_ fears his biology. “Please stop.”

“Alright.” He soothes, sending a wave of comfort of their bond and kissing the younger man’s flushed cheeks, “Okay, it’s okay, _cyare_. I’ll wait for you to be ready, we’ll wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beskar’gam = armour  
> buy’ce = helmet  
> kov’nyn = headbutt/Keldabe Kiss  
> ner dinui = my gift  
> Me'vaar ti gar = How are you (Lit: what's new with you?)  
> Naas = I'm fine (lit: nothing)  
> Ven’Mando’ade = future children of Mandalore  
> cyare = beloved  
> riduur = partner, spouse, husband, wife (also means mate in this au)  
> Ner’tracyn sarad = my fire flower  
> Mhi ba'juri verde = we will raise warriors (from Mandalorian marriage vows)  
> Alor = leader  
> Me'copaani = What do you want? What would you like?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a self-imposed challenge for myself that had started just as a joke-idea written down but then I became way too invested in the plot I had been planning out and it began to consume my waking hours. So here I am, a borderline sex-repulsed asexual lesbian trying to write male porn with plot and trying not to kill myself with embarrassment.  
> (On the bright side, no one suspects that's what I'm doing even when I'm writing it right in front of them!)


End file.
